


Real

by round_robin



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, Damon wanted to say, scream for me. Show me this is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> Something has always bothered me about the Vampire Diaries: why isn't there a spell to revoke a vampire's invite into a house? Maybe I only think that because there was a de-invite spell on Buffy and it seems super logical that some witch somewhere would think that was a handy spell to invent. This is in no way related to the plot at all, but there is a little line about it and I wanted to explain my thinking.
> 
> Not beta'd. If you find a typo, please include it with your comment so it can be seen to. Enjoy!

Alaric shook his head, tracing his fingers over the brass buttons of Damon’s old Confederate uniform. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I didn’t,” Damon said, pushing a fresh glass into Alaric’s free hand. “My father did. He thought it was a disgrace when I left the Confederate army. He kept it to remind me of my shame.” He took a deep drink, letting the burn of the whiskey chase away old arguments. His father was long dead, no reason to let the memories of his less than stellar personal skills cloud what few good moments they had together.

Usually, Alaric was very perceptive when it came to Damon’s melancholy thoughts. He was always quick to change the subject, but right now, he was too lost in the valuable piece of history sitting right in front of his eyes. The uniform was the best preserved piece he’d ever seen, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on, just a little.

He managed to gather himself together and stepped back from the table. Damon had brought out most of his Confederate gear and if he didn’t pull away now, he might be stuck here for days. “Thank you,” he said. “This is all so great. Man, I wish I could bring you into class as a primary source.”

They both knew he couldn’t. Even in Mystic Falls where nearly every family had some stake in the Civil War, Damon’s knowledge would be too spot on and conspicuous. People would ask questions, get nosey, then the sheriff would have a hell of a lot to cover up. Best that Damon only lend Alaric family journals from back then.

They retreated back to the sofa, the artifacts still gleaming on the table for Alaric to oogle all he liked. Damon relaxed back into the cushions, going boneless the way he only could around Alaric. Too much was happening, he couldn’t trust anyone, especially with Ripper Stefan living in his house, reporting everything back to Klaus. These few stolen moments of peace were as good as his life got these days.

Something heavy set in Damon’s lap. He opened his eyes to see Alaric’s shoeless feet resting across his legs. This was... new. They usually downplayed the “sometimes we fuck” thing; it could only be passed off as drunken familiarity so often. “Do you ever wish you stayed?” he asked, like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Like his bare, surprisingly sexy feet weren’t in Damon’s lap right now.

Damon managed to retain some presence of mind and answered the question. “Not at first. When I was still waiting for Katherine to get out of the tomb, I didn’t think about it much. There’s not really much difference. By leaving, I gave up my chance to die in a field for a chance to die in the road.”

Alaric took a sip from his drink. “How about after you found out she was a lying, scheming bitch?”

His eyes darted to the staircase, then to the door. Leave it to Evil Stefan to appear at the most compromising times. He loved nothing more than catching Damon in... uncomfortable situations. Anything related to Katherine Pierce was decidedly uncomfortable.

“Ric...”

Alaric put his whiskey free hand over the zip of Damon’s jeans. “There’s a dance tonight.” He shifted, setting his glass down on the end table and straddling Damon’s lap. “Caroline actually convinced Elena to help with the decorations, and since Klaus ordered Stefan to keep an eye on her, he’s at the dance too.”

“Don’t you usually get roped in to chaperone those things?” Damon rested his hands on Alaric’s hips, rubbing his thumbs against the worn denim. He could feel a hidden knife in one of the pockets and couldn’t help but smirk. That was his vampire hunter: always armed to the teeth.

“Usually.” He shifted again, aligning his ass directly over the rising bulge in Damon’s pants. Damon bit his lip to stifle a groan. “I think they took pity on me after getting assigned to the last three dances in a row.

“Tell me about Katherine,” he said suddenly, planting his hands beside Damon’s head on the couch and grinding his hips down at the same time.

All the conflicting signals coming at once shorted Damon’s brain out for a second. He gripped tighter to Alaric and groaned again. “Why do you ask?” He was nearly panting. Even if Stefan was occupied at whatever dance, it didn’t mean they were alone. He and Alaric only did... _this_ , when they were sure of their privacy.

“You said she never Compelled you.” Alaric continued grinding his hips against Damon, then, he started moving in slow circles. It was very nearly a lap dance. “If she was so horrible, how could you love her without being Compelled?”

Damon gasped, thrusting up against Alaric. “I was young. I was stupid.” Apparently he still was. “What’s this about?” he demanded even as he ground Alaric down against his straining cock. What he wouldn’t give to take him upstairs and make a proper night of it, but they couldn’t risk it, not with Stefan back from the dance at any time.

He felt Alaric’s fingers threading through his hair, bringing their lips close together. “I only want to understand you, Damon. You’re my best friend. If you could betray your own brother like that, what chance do I stand?”

Damon’s eyes screamed open. No, he was screaming... at his bedroom ceiling. The sheets, damp with sweat, pooled around him, brushing against his erection. He took a few deep breaths and willed it away. One drawback to being a vampire: terror and sex went together a lot. Inappropriate erections were par for the course.

With all the blood flowing correctly now he could assure himself of a few things. One: it was just a dream. Ric wasn’t about to interrogate him about his strange relationship with Katherine. Two: who might want to know a few things about their shared romance? Or at least: who might want to use said facts to torment him?

Throwing the sheets aside, he grabbed the nearest clothing and got dressed. Down in the great room, he found Stefan exactly where he thought he would, sitting on the sofa where he and Alaric usually drank themselves stupid. He extended a glass towards Damon with a smirk. Stefan was never one for game playing. Now that he got into the habit of it, it looked too good on him.

“Drink, brother?” he asked.

Damon stayed where he was. “What the hell?” he growled.

“Time was, you’d never leave your head so unguarded.” He sipped at his drink, still holding the second glass for Damon. “I think love’s making you soft.”

“Does Klaus want to know about Katherine?” Damon snapped back. “Thought you’d be able to give him everything.”

“True.” Stefan pushed himself up from the couch and stepped towards him. Damon stayed where he was; he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “And, you’re wrong—as usual. This has nothing to do with Klaus. Just my curiosity. So tell me.” He drained his glass, eyes boring into Damon’s. “How did it feel being in competition with your baby brother? How did you live with yourself? Knowing she pulled my strings, and you were doing nothing to stop it?”

Stefan didn’t want an answer and Damon knew it. He wanted a reaction, and Damon was stupid enough to give it to him. Body shaking, it took all his strength to keep from hitting Stefan. Right now, he wanted to tear his head off, be rid of him for good. But he couldn’t do that. His brother was still in there somewhere and he was going to get him back.

“Have a good night, Stefan.”

Anger propelled him through the front doors and out into the cold night. He took a deep breath to calm himself. When that didn’t work, he went to his car to liberate a spare jacket and a pack of cigarettes. He didn’t smoke often, only when he needed it, which was a lot more often these days. He lit the first cigarette and started walking towards town. Walking off his anger would keep him from going back and ripping Stefan’s heart out. He hoped.

Six cigarettes and an hour later, Damon found himself in front of the Gilbert house. He ditched the rest of the pack (it only had two left in it, anyway) and took a second to air out his jacket. He couldn’t get rid of the smoke smell completely, but he would get a little less flack from Elana. He rang the doorbell and waited for her to appear and give his desired tongue lashing. It would make this night feel a little more normal.

The door opened and Alaric appeared. “Ric.” Damon felt sweat start to bead all over his skin. “I didn’t think you’d... where’s Elena?”

“Sleepover with Bonnie,” he said. “They’re looking through the grimoires to find a way to revoke a vampire’s invite.” He shrugged. “I’ve never heard of such a spell, but more power to them.”

Alaric stepped back to let Damon inside the house. He didn’t move at first, just stood on the porch, his fingers twitching, breath coming in ragged, irregular pants. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Uh,” he mumbled. His eyes were a bit too wide, taking in and processing everything to make sure it wasn’t another trick. Alaric looked real enough, but the dream had too.

“Damon.” Alaric stepped out the door, his hands lifted a little, ready to calm or restrain in equal parts. “Everything okay? You look... strung out.” While Damon was fond of his hedonism, he didn’t partake in anything stronger than scotch. In fact, now that Alaric was closer, he could smell cigarette smoke clinging to Damon’s jacket. His brow creased with heightened concern. “Did something happen with Stefan?”

Damon squeezed his eyes shut and wished those memories away. He didn’t want to remember the pointed, very Katherine-like sneer on his best friend’s face, not even if it was just a dream. “Can we go somewhere?” he asked once he’d pulled himself together. “I don’t want to wake Jeremy.”

“He’s not here, he’s at the dance. Something about how he and Matt are on the dance committee.” He shook his head and chuckled. “I know Bonnie’s getting powerful lately, but she doesn’t have anything on whatever black magic Caroline used to rope those two into helping at a dance.”

Damon nodded to himself. So the whole dance thing was actually happening; leave it to Stefan to put real life events into his head, making it that more surreal. “Empty house,” he said. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, not with the mixture of anger and desire churning in his gut. Right now, Damon didn’t know what he wanted more: to rip Stefan’s head off or to fuck Alaric blind.

He decided for the latter. He balled his hands into fists, then flexed his fingers before leaning in and resting his hands on either side of the door frame, bringing him closer to Alaric. Damon had just enough self control left not to lunge right there. When Alaric didn’t pull back, he smiled wider.

Pitching his voice low and smooth, he said, “Invite me in?”

Alaric’s eyes traced him up and down, waiting for the joke. “You already have an invite.”

Damon shrugged. “Yes, but if I’m going to molest you, I’m going to do it properly.”

A grin flashed across his face as Alaric took a second to look around the street. There could be a late night jogger, or a random dog walk, you never knew with these small towns, and the last thing they needed was another rumor about the town drunks. Street clear, he wrapped his fingers around Damon’s lapels. “Come in.”

Alaric pulled as Damon rushed inside, slamming the door closed behind him. Their mouths crashed together, teeth clicking against each other. After a few seconds of struggle for control of the kiss, Alaric let Damon win and invited that smooth, yet sharp tongue into his mouth to play. The muscles of Damon’s arms shaking even as they held onto Alaric told him everything he needed to know about what was going to happen tonight. Only the why remained a mystery.

After a few more brutal kisses, Damon dropped to his knees and pulled at Alaric’s belt. It was a near miracle he didn’t just rip the jeans off, but he suspected Ric wouldn’t like that too much. His fingers closed around Alaric’s rapidly rising cock.

“Hey.” Alaric grabbed his chin and hauled his eyes upwards. Pupils wide and black with arousal took a back seat to the concern written all across his face. “Is everything okay?”

Damon pressed his face into Alaric’s leg and shook his head. “Don’t ask questions right now.” They didn’t do this. They didn’t do sex in beds, or comfort that didn’t involve a bottle, or anything close to a relationship, and Damon would be damned if he screwed that up now just because of his soulless, asshole of a brother.

Alaric ran his fingers through Damon’s hair to try and bring some calm back. “Okay,” he said. “No questions.”

“Thank you.” Damon kissed his hip before turning his attention to his prize. The conversation had made it flag a little, but Damon was one hundred percent convinced he could show Alaric a good time, no matter what his current mental state.

He opened his mouth wide and swallowed all the way down to the root. “Fuck!” Alaric squeaked and grabbed onto the door frame behind him. The intense attention brought him back to full hardness and Damon had to pull back a little. He took a breath through his nose, flattened his tongue and whipped it along the underside, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard.

“Oh, hell...” Alaric’s fingers spread through Damon’s hair, nails scratching at his scalp.

He pulled the cock out of his mouth again, keeping just the head inside. He sucked on the plump glans the way he knew Alaric liked. He wanted to hear more: more moans and groans of pleasure. Ever sound echoed inside Damon’s ears, replacing the fake words that filled his head an hour ago. _Yes_ , he wanted to say, _scream for me. Show me this is real._

“Damon—I’m close,” Alaric moaned.

Damon pulled off completely and peppered kisses up and down the shaft. He wasn’t nearly done yet. Stroking Alaric’s cock lightly with his one hand, he used the other to pull down his pants, revealing scarred skin and lovely, sharp hip bones.

He reached back and gave Alaric’s ass a squeeze. “Damon!” he squeaked.

Damon purred. “Oh, I love it when you try to be all righteous and serious with your pants around your ankles.” He licked a stripe over Ric’s prominent hip bones and returned his attention to the main event. One hand still cradling Alaric’s right butt cheek, Damon pulled his cock back into his mouth.

The head fit into Damon’s soft palate like they were made for each other. He let his tongue go around and around that thick head, while his hand stroked Alaric off. “Damon, Damon, fuck—” Alaric gasped. His muscles tightened and with one last gasp, his load spilled inside Damon’s mouth.

Damon, gentleman he was, swallowed the pungent fluid even as his hand pumped Alaric for more. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would leave a blow job half finished. When the last sour trace was gone and Alaric started batting at him to move, he let the already soft cock slip out of his mouth and leaned his head against Ric’s bare hip.

It took a bit for Alaric’s breath to return to normal. Damon kneeled in front of him, patiently waiting, his arms wrapped around Alaric’s legs. Alaric’s fingers continued to stroke through his hair, almost like he forgot he was doing it, and Damon wasn’t about to remind him. All the feelings and sensations of a living, breathing, completely real Alaric calmed his troubled mind. For once, he wasn’t thinking about Stefan or Klaus, or any other problem they had right now. He let the smells of leather, denim, and Ric’s sweat and come fill his mind, grounding him.

Alaric finally got himself together. “So,” he said, his voice still a little breathless. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“No,” Damon said.

“Right.” Silence hung between them for another moment. Then, “Drink?”

“Yes.”

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alaric doesn't have the greatest diet and diet does impact how come tastes. Both alcohol and meat make it taste sour (or just all around bad) so that's what I'm going with here. I had another note, but I forget what it was.


End file.
